Throw Away The Key
by waterbaby134
Summary: After the death of Red John, Jane and Lisbon discuss decisions made and opportunities missed. Now with second chapter added!
1. Chapter 1

**This fic is set after Red John's death. No theories about RJ's identity here though, just a very Jisbon-centric piece, that I hope you'll enjoy.**

**Rated T**

**Disclaimer: I don't own it.**

* * *

"Inmate 94211! You have a visitor!"

The gruff voice of the guard was almost drowned out by the ringing sound of a baton on steel bars. The occupants of the cell exchanged unenthusiastic looks.

"That's you, man." Chester Hudson, convicted of multiple counts of theft and Internet fraud, inclined his head to his cellmate, who shrugged, and returned to his book.

Again, the guard rapped on the cell door, the sound echoing down the corridor.

"94211!" he shouted again. "Get your worthless ass over here."

Jane folded down the corner of the page he was on and closed the book with a sigh. Stowing it next to his pillow, he got to his feet and ambled over to the door in no great hurry.

"Can't you just take a message?" he asked, through a yawn of boredom. He found he was getting tired a lot easier these days. Days upon days in a prison cell didn't suit him at all. He'd even noticed in recent weeks that his once-agile mind seemed to be getting slower. Although, even at half capacity, he still managed to outwit at least 99.9% of the rest of the prison population, which included not only the other inmates, but the guards and the warden as well.

The guard, a stocky, short-tempered man known to the inmates only as 'Fisher,' snorted with disgust. He was very much a man of the traditional school of prison guards; once a con, always a con. There could be no rehabilitation. He also seemed to give very little credence to the fact that Jane had once worked with the police, and been responsible for putting many of his charges into jail in the first place.

"I don't run errands for murderers, inmate."

"The name is 'Jane,'" he patiently corrected him. "You know it, so how about you start using it?"

"And how about you learn to shut that big mouth of yours before I break your jaw?" snapped Fisher.

Jane refrained from rolling his eyes. Being constantly surrounded by all this insecure 'tough-guy' posturing was becoming very irksome. In fact, the last time he recalled hearing a word of sense from anybody was in a brief conversation with Josh the cleaner last week. A far cleverer man than his pay grade reflected, he'd found they'd been able connect on a level he hadn't experienced in a long while. It had been a pleasant change.

"Open on 12!" shouted Fisher to an unseen colleague, and with the usual deafening buzz, the cell door slid open, and Jane stepped out.

"Who's the visitor?" he asked Fisher, as his hands were cuffed, and he was escorted along the corridor towards the visiting area.

"Do I look like a secretary to you?" came the reply.

* * *

She drummed her fingers on the table, keeping one eye fixed on the door leading to the cell-block. He'd been in here two weeks, and this was the first time she'd ever come to see him. In fact, he'd made her promise that she wouldn't, on the day of his sentencing. He'd said that a clean break would be the best thing for all of them, and something else she hadn't quite caught, as he'd been in the process of being dragged away by the bailiffs at the time. She'd sat in the car for nearly twenty minutes after parking, working up the nerve to come inside, had debated whether or not to just phone him or send a letter, but she'd dragged herself in here in the end.

Besides, she couldn't bear to miss the chance to see for herself how he was faring. Jane was certainly no stranger to the prison system after all, but this term had turned out to be for quite a bit longer than his previous short stints. The judge had been extremely lenient, downgrading the charge from murder to manslaughter, and dismissing all of Jane's previous court records, but still, he'd sentenced him to five years imprisonment, with a three-year non-parole period. That was apparently the thanks they'd gotten for ridding California of one of it's most sadistic serial killers.

She'd done what she could for him. She'd spoken quite emphatically on his behalf at the trial, highlighting every atrocity Red John had committed over his killing career, and telling them of all the cases he'd helped them solve, and gave a glowing character reference. She'd finished by pleading with the jury to find him not guilty and to finally let him be, but to no avail. The defence lawyer had told her beforehand that to remain detached and professional would give Jane his best chance, but as she'd taken the stand, she'd made the fatal mistake of catching her consultant's eyes, and it opened up all those feelings for him she'd been desperately trying to keep a lid on.

She didn't like to think about how she must have appeared to that courtroom, like a person so blinkered by emotions that she'd have said or done anything to have him go free.

That lawyer had been useless, in the end. Jane would have done better to represent himself again, but she had begged him to seek professional counsel, and for once, he'd listened to her.

If only she'd known he had a gun. If only she hadn't let him disappear on his own. If she'd only got to him in time…but there was no point going over it again and again in her mind. It was done, and they all just had to deal with the consequences.

A buzzer sounded, the door opened, and Jane shuffled in, accompanied by a sour-looking guard. She felt her breath catch as she studied him; same golden curls, the same perfect posture, even though she could see he'd lost a little weight since he'd been in here. His grey-blue eyes scanned the room, looking for a familiar face, and immediately landed on her.

At first, he simply looked stunned, but after a moment, his face relaxed into that million-dollar smile, and it was like watching at least twenty years fall off him as he followed the guard to the table where she sat. Even as a prisoner of the state of California, he'd still somehow maintained that effortless gorgeousness she remembered, though with some of the stories she'd heard about jail, she couldn't be sure if that was a good or bad thing.

She scrutinized him even more closely as the guard removed Jane's handcuffs and retreated to the back wall. A few more lines on his forehead than she remembered, dark shadows under his eyes (clearly still an insomniac,) but with a certain peaceful air about him now that his revenge was finally done.

"Hey boss," he said.

Her body moved of it's own accord, and in an instant she was on her feet and throwing herself into his arms. Automatically he drew her in even closer and for a minute or two there was nothing but the sound of their breath intermingling as they held each other close.

Tempting though it was to just stay like this for the whole visit, she reluctantly released him and they took seats on opposite sides of the table.

"I thought I told you not to come here," he said, but still grinning like a Cheshire cat so she knew he was happy to see her.

"I'm here as a Californian citizen, to see my tax dollars hard at work." She gestured toward his curls. "I see they're keeping you well supplied with hair product."

"Hey!" he protested, running his hand through it. "I'll have you know that is 100% natural."

"Sure, in the same way that all Rigsby's favourite foods are 100% fat-free," she said, and he chuckled. She found she'd forgotten exactly how it sounded; it had always reminded her of warm honey. It was amazing how quickly the human mind could forget. Although, she could already feel her body responding to seeing him again. Her pulse was quickening, and that familiar heat slowly spreading through her. Apparently, some parts of her still had perfect recollection.

"How are you?" she asked, as he settled himself more comfortably in the chair, causing it to creak.

"I'm OK," he said. "But I was disappointed to find that life in prison isn't quite as much fun as it's made out to be in 'Jailhouse Rock.' Elvis Presley has a lot to answer for with that song."

She read between the lines of the easy smile and the offhandedness, and could have a guess at just how miserable he must be in here. A brilliant mind like his needed challenge, and constant stimulation. The monotony of the prison routine must be driving him mad. She suddenly wished she'd thought to bring him a newspaper, or a case file for him to look over, anything to help him keep the neurons firing. She knew he considered his mind his greatest asset, and that the idea of losing it must terrify him.

Jane was apparently thinking along similar lines. "I was expecting Cho," he said. "He told me he was going to drop by some more Sudoku puzzles this week. But this is a million times better. Seeing you again." He sat back a little, and let his eyes rove over her face, silently taking her in. "I've missed you so much."

His hand was just inches away from hers, and she longed to take it, and squeeze it, but found he couldn't bring herself to under the guard's watchful eye, as though he'd be intruding on a private moment. She knew it was stupid considering she'd had no problem hugging him in front of the guard not five minutes ago, but somehow, holding his hand felt like something more intimate, that nobody else should witness. Instead, she placed her hand in front of Jane's, their fingertips close enough together that they were almost touching, but not quite.

"I miss you too," she said, quietly. "It's not the same without you."

The CBI felt different now that he was gone. The bullpen was too quiet, the old brown couch too empty. Even the passenger seat of her car felt like something was missing.

"How is everything at the old Bureau?" he asked, and she seized on the subject gratefully, telling him about Rigsby and Van Pelt moving in together, Cho's recent commendation, and the office pool about whether or not the new Director, a man by the name of Brendan Sanderson, wore a toupee.

"We had a pool on us, you know," he said thoughtfully, after she'd relayed the incident when James Bedford from Cyber Crime, had 'accidentally' bumped into Sanderson in the elevator in an attempt to dislodge the alleged toupee, resulting in him spilling coffee all down the Director's shirt. "They've been placing bets for years on whether we were sleeping together or not." He gave a little smile. "I wonder who ended up winning that," he said. "Last I heard the pot was up to several thousand dollars."

"You're making that up," she accused him, but he shook his head.

"I'm not," he said. "Even Hightower had some money on us while she was there. Ask her yourself if you don't believe me." He smiled at her once more.

It was amazing that even in a room full of guards, prisoners, and their visitors, he could still make her feel like the world existed only for the two of them. The time she'd spent alone with him in her office after hours had always been the highlight of her day, but she supposed she would have to get used to a table bolted to the floor in a crowded room.

"So tell me, my dear, how are you doing?" he asked, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the couple in the middle of a domestic at the next table.

"I'm fine," she lied. She slept badly, ate irregularly and missed him every moment of the day, but she couldn't bring herself to admit it. Her suffering must be as nothing compared to his.

"Liar," he said. "Cho told me last week that you're struggling, but even if he hadn't, I could tell just by looking at you." His gaze softened as he studied her pale complexion and slimmer frame.

"Well if you already knew the answer, why ask?" she snapped.

"I wanted to know if you still thought you could lie to me, even though you know it's pointless."

"Congratulations," she said, dryly. "You were right."

She waited for the triumphant grin, but it never came. He sighed instead, and she felt his eyes pinioning hers.

"You need to take better care of yourself," he scolded her, gently. "You're going to make yourself sick if you carry on this way."

She folded her arms defiantly, irritated at being lectured as though she were a child. It wasn't as easy as he was making it sound. It wasn't her fault that whenever she tried to eat, she could only manage a few bites at a time, and sleep was next to impossible with thoughts of him running through her mind the moment she got into bed. Did he think she liked being like this? Her life would be a lot easier if she could put him out of her mind for a little while, but the ten-year habit of worrying about him was proving hard to break. It was part of the reason she had come here today; she'd thought if she could see him doing OK, it might put her mind at ease. So far, the plan was backfiring. Here he was, utterly miserable, but putting on a fake smile for her benefit, and she was more concerned for him now then ever.

The guard who'd escorted Jane into the room suddenly loomed over them.

"Ten minutes to go, inmate," he grunted, and then to Lisbon, in a much pleasanter tone. "Ma'am."

Jane glared after him. "A truly enlightened man, Fisher," he said, voice dripping in sarcasm. "If you were getting beaten to death in the exercise yard, he's the one you'd want standing there watching."

Fear sliced through her at these words. They both knew that Jane had little physical strength, and coupled with his big mouth and penchant for pissing people off, that could potentially get him into a lot of trouble. She'd been counting on the guards to look out for him, but by the sound of it, that was hoping for far too much.

"I could arrange for you to have protective custody," she said, following the guard's lolloping gait with her eyes. "Maybe even get you into a cell on your own. I can make a few calls, call in a favour or two."

He could practically see her mind going into fix-it mode, and couldn't help but smile a tiny bit.

"There's no need. Save all that goodwill for something important."

A flash of anger in those emerald eyes. "_You're_ important."

"That's debatable."

"You're important to me."

He grinned at the sudden appearance of Saint Teresa. He'd been wondering when she'd show up. "It's OK," he reassured her. "I've done my networking, a little hypnosis here and there, made sure I'm owed favours by the right people. I'll be fine." When she still looked distressed, he added, "Don't worry, I know better than to go around stirring the pot without you and your gun around to watch my back." He smiled at her, but she didn't return it.

"You'll forgive me if I have my doubts about that. And if you're not careful, you could end up with an even longer sentence…or worse." She blinked to rid her mind of the image of him lying on a cold stone floor surrounded by jeering inmates as he bled out, in what was becoming a recurring nightmare for her.

He shook his head. "I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize my chances of getting early parole. Too much to lose on the outside."

"The CBI will find some way to take you back when you get out if you want to come back," she said. "You close cases like crazy, they won't want to give that up if they can help it."

"That wasn't what I meant."

He got the feeling that she was deliberately misunderstanding him; she knew as well as he did that he couldn't care less about his job at the CBI. The one and only reason he was in a hurry to get out of here was for the sake of the woman sitting opposite him. He reached for her hand and gently stroked the back of it with his thumb.

"Jane!" she protested, in a whisper, looking cautiously over her shoulder at Fisher.

He ignored her, instead bringing her hand up to his lips and laying a kiss on her palm. She closed her eyes briefly at the contact, remembering.

"Teresa," he said quietly. "There hasn't been a day in this place that's gone by without me thinking of you. And I'm sorry, so sorry, that we never really got our chance."

She took a sharp intake of breath and knew that they were both thinking about the same thing. One night, about a week before they'd taken down Red John, he'd come to her apartment with beer and Chinese food. One minute they'd been sitting innocently together on the couch, the next, he'd been carrying her to her bedroom, the food and beer forgotten. He'd kissed her with reckless abandon, as though all his self-restraint had disappeared, hands roaming all over her, touching, caressing, making her sigh as he kissed her neck, whispered things into her ear so his warm breath tickled her skin. Even though they were both still fully clothed, she'd never felt more vulnerable. He'd had her completely at his mercy.

But when she'd reached for his belt buckle in the hope of getting things moving a little faster, he'd gently brushed her aside, laid her back against the pillows and kissed her forehead, her neck, and then finally her lips again.

"Not yet," he'd breathed.

"When?" She recalled the note of desperation in her voice, as it finally dawned her that this was to become yet another non-event. She hated him a little bit for that; for laying her bare, and still not giving her what she wanted the most. She'd already given over all of herself to him, was it too much to ask for a little reciprocation?

"Soon." He kissed her forehead again, and left.

A week later, she was watching him be loaded into the back of a squad car, tears swimming in her eyes._ 'Soon'_ never came.

"I know you're sorry. Believe me, I am too."

Sometimes, she was sorry she'd ever met him. Her life had been chugging along just fine before he came and turned her world upside down, and made her love him more than she'd ever thought she could love anyone. She'd always thought the feelings she'd had for Greg were the ultimate indicators of love, until Jane had come along and blown that theory out of the water. Maybe she'd been better off not knowing.

"I wish things were different," he said, fervently. "And I know I've got absolutely no right to ask you this, but I'm going to do it anyway." He placed his fingertips under her chin, and gently tilted her head up until she met his eyes. "You are the reason I stayed in Sacramento when I always planned on running and never looking back, and the only one I could ever want to build a future with. Will you wait for me?"

The question surprised her, for never had he made such a direct comment about the two of them being in a relationship. He was all about teasing and hints and seemingly ambiguous comments that she spent days at a time trying to puzzle out. This was a definite sign that he wanted to be with her. She should have been thrilled. But…

"I've been waiting for you for ten years Patrick," she said. "Waiting for Red John to be out of the way, and for you to make peace with your past. And now you've finally done that, you expect me to wait again?" She sighed. "Fifteen years is a long time to be in romantic limbo."

"It might not be that long," he pointed out. "I could be paroled in three years."

"I always thought I'd be married by now," she said sadly. "Maybe with a house of my own and a kid or two. Not in a prison visitor's room."

"I know we can't be together while I'm in here," he said. "But we could have a life together, Teresa. A really good one."

She'd thought about it too sometimes. She'd always pictured them living in a little place in the suburbs, somewhere quiet, where they could live out their lives without fear. Watching old movies together on the couch. Making love in the morning before they went off to work. Maybe one day he might even dig out the old photo albums he'd kept at the Malibu house and show her his wife and daughter and the life they'd once had.

"I know," she agreed. "And I want that more than anything. But in all these years the timing has just never been right for us. Maybe someone's trying to tell us something." She glanced heavenwards, and prayed for a sign. Her head was pulling her one way; her heart another, and she still didn't have any idea which would be the winner. "Maybe you were right at your sentencing hearing. Maybe a clean break would be the best thing."

"I love you," he said sincerely. "If that helps at all."

It was good to hear him say it and not take it back, and she allowed herself a moment to bask in the glow of being loved by Patrick Jane. It was a very exclusive club to be in, with only one other person granted a place.

"I love _you_," she replied. "Which is kind of the problem. I've been so focused on what you want all these years, I don't know if it's right for me."

He did an excellent job of hiding his disappointment at her less-than-enthusiastic reply, but she saw pain flicker through his eyes when she looked hard enough.

"I understand," he said. "You're right. I never should have asked. You deserve to have a full life, and everything you want, and to not be tied down to a man in prison." But then he smiled at her again. "Go and get your career back on track, and break some men's hearts. But just know that the day I get out of here, the first thing I'll do is come to you, get down on my knees and beg if I have to."

She smiled back. "I'll look forward to that."

"You'll still come visit me sometimes, right?" he asked.

"What else are best friends for?"

In truth, she knew she'd probably spend the next few years counting down the days until he was back in her life, and that once she finally had him, she'd never be able to let him go. But it would be her decision; something she had chosen to do, and not just out of obligation because she'd made a promise. And that made all the difference to her.

Once again, Fisher the guard, appeared, this time brandishing the handcuffs.

"Time's up," he said, gruffly.

"I love you," Jane told her again, ignoring Fisher. "And I swear to you that one day I'll show you just how much."

Instead of answering in kind, she leaned across the table, and brought her lips to his in a sweet kiss.

"I'll see you soon," she said.

Reluctantly, he got up from the chair, and allowed Fisher to cuff his hands once more. The cuffs were rather tighter than he thought was right, but he kept his mouth shut. There were more important things to consider.

He glanced over his shoulder as they left the room; her eyes were fixed on him, watching him go. He would have blown her a kiss but the cuffs made it impossible. He winked at her instead, and she smiled back.

No more missed opportunities. Their time was coming. And he couldn't wait.

* * *

**Please forgive me if the prison stuff isn't accurate. I'm going to ahead and claim poetic licence with that, but I do apologize if it's wrong.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Once again, I cave under pressure and my one-shot becomes a two-shot.**

**It's rated a heavy T, and I really hope you enjoy it.**

The date had been bookmarked in her calendar for months. And now it was only a week away. The 17th of August held no great significance to America, or even just California, but to Lisbon, it was shaping up to be one of the most important days of her life. It was the day of Jane's parole hearing. The three years he'd been incarcerated had seemed to fly, and at the same time crawl by to her. It didn't make any sense at all, but there was no other way she could think of to describe it.

She couldn't wait to see him freed, but her stomach twisted with apprehension at the thought of it. The first time she'd gone to visit him in there he'd sworn to win her heart the moment he got out. They'd never discussed it again after that, but she wasn't fool enough to think he had forgotten his pledge. At the time, it had been a flattering notion, even romantic, but now there were other things to consider.

Michael, for one. Michael, who she'd been dating for just under a year now, who was kind and dependable and sweet. And who had always supported her in her monthly visits to the jail, full of pride in her for sticking by a friend in need. Though of course, it had to be acknowledged that he didn't have the whole picture of the situation.

She'd told him that Jane had been a work colleague, who had been jailed for killing a vicious serial killer in an attempt to save her life. She owed him a debt, she said, and Michael had understood.

"I want to meet this guy," he'd told her one day. "If it weren't for him, you might not be standing here, and I want to shake his hand." He'd genuinely meant that, she could tell, but she doubted he'd still be as accommodating if he knew about the rest of their history; the late nights together in her office, love confessions uttered and then taken back, and years upon years of hopeless longing, wanting him to see her the way she'd always seen him. The fact that the timing had just never been quite right to give them their chance.

She sighed. It was all water under the bridge now anyway. Jane had made the decision to throw away a future with her by killing Red John, and she wasn't about to let him just catapult himself into her life again. She was with Michael now. It was time for them both to accept that they had missed their shot.

"Going to see your friend today?" asked Michael, over the breakfast table.

She nodded. "I want to go over what he should say to the parole board next week. Or more importantly, what_ not_ to say." He had always had a jaded view of the legal system. Knowing him as well as she did, there was every chance that he could go off on one of his courtroom tirades during the hearing, and get himself locked up for another two years.

When he was on form, Jane could charm the pants off of anybody. She just had to keep him focused on wowing the parole board and not on declaiming the justice system.

"Can't his lawyer do that?"

"He doesn't have one."

Michael raised an eyebrow. "Is that wise? Because I can recommend a law firm a few of my friends have used, if he's not happy with his current representation."

She smiled a little to herself, remembering a trial several years ago in which Jane had successfully represented himself against assault charges, _and_ uncovered a killer at the same time.

"He can handle it," she said.

"I hope so," said Michael dubiously, buttering himself some toast. "But you know what they say about people who represent themselves-they've got a fool for a client."

Even though she knew it had been meant in a helpful way, something inside her still grated at the criticism of Jane. Her ex-consultant was not a fool by any stretch of the imagination, and if Michael had even the slightest idea what he was dealing with, he would never have said that. But there was no really no way of explaining how brilliant Jane truly was; it was a phenomenon that had to be witnessed to be fully understood.

"Has he made any plans about what he's going to do after he's released?" asked Michael. "Where's he going to live? What he's going to do for money?"

"He's got a place in Malibu," said Lisbon. "He says he want to sell it, and buy a house here in Sacramento. The money from the sale will keep him going for a while."

She and Jane had talked at great length about what he ought to do with the Malibu house. He'd said he wanted to sell quickly, and erase it from his life as soon as possible, but she was worried about whether he was ready to let go of this one last link to his lost family. Even though if she were given any choice in it, she'd never set foot in the place again.

Michael finished his toast, and glanced at his watch. "You'd better get going, babe," he said, getting up to rinse his plate. "Visiting hours start soon, and I've got a nine thirty meeting to get to." He paused to drop a soft kiss of her lips. "I'll see you later. Love you."

"Have a good day," she answered him, with a slightly strained smile. "I'll see you tonight."

Michael had first dropped the 'L' bomb on the evening of their six-month anniversary, and taken her so much by surprise, that she'd been unable to find any words to answer him. The fact that the expected response didn't come immediately to her lips had disturbed her, but he'd been remarkably good-natured about it.

"I don't want you to say it back if you're not ready, just because you feel like you should," he'd said, gazing into her eyes. "But I just wanted you to know how I feel about you."

There had been no insidious plans. No guns. No take-backs on account of being 'hyped-up." It had been a real, true, grown-up 'I love you,' and it had been wonderful to hear. Really, it had. But three months on, she was still working up to saying it back.

She'd always thought the words would come to her eventually if she were patient enough. But recently she'd been having the somewhat disquieting thought that she could only truly love Michael when she was through with loving Patrick.

That part was proving difficult.

She arrived at the prison a few minutes early. Visiting hours hadn't started yet, so she was relegated to the shabby waiting room with bad chairs, and even worse coffee. Already sitting on one of the rock-hard seats was Nisha Adams, rocking her three-year old son back and forth.

She'd met Nisha the very first time she'd come to visit Jane. After their fairly intense conversation, she'd collapsed into one of these chairs, breathing deeply in an attempt to compose herself. Nisha had taken pity on her, and over the next few weeks, they had struck up a friendship.

Nisha's husband Dan was halfway through a five-year sentence for dangerous and negligent driving. He'd been driving home from work one day, a few miles over the limit and collided with a pair with schoolgirls who had been crossing the road. One of the girls had sustained major head injuries, while the other had died at the scene. Nisha had told her that the prison sentence had been the least of her husband's worries, and that having to live with what he had done was the worst punishment he could possibly get.

She had certainly been able to relate to someone she cared about being weighted down with that kind of regret.

"I heard the good news," Nisha said, with a smile. "Dan says Patrick's up for parole next week."

"Yeah," she agreed, though guardedly. "But I don't want to celebrate just yet. There are still lots of ways it could go wrong."

"They'll grant it for sure," Nisha encouraged. "First offence, model prisoner, not to mention he's got public opinion on his side." Her smile faded a little as she took in Lisbon's tense expression. "What's wrong, Teresa?" she asked. "I thought you'd be happy."

"I am," she assured her, pasting on a smile. "I just don't want to get my hopes up too much until it's a done deal."

"Well I guess that's understandable," said Nisha. "But I have a feeling it's all going to work out for him. Believe it, honey. He's coming home to you."

Jane smiled a mile wide when he saw her walk through the door of the visitor's room. The drabness of the prison made her seem even lovelier by comparison, her hair falling loosely down her back, moving with the grace of a dancer.

He put on his best smile for her as she settled herself opposite him. Seeing her always brightened up his day. And in just one more week, he would be a free man, and he'd be with her all day every day, just like old times, only better. In the old days, they'd been just friends, but now, they could finally try and be something more.

"You need a haircut," she said, by way of greeting.

"Yes," he deadpanned. "Forget attempted murder or assault, a bad hair day is the real crime here."

"Ha ha," she said, blankly, but no witty rejoinder followed it, and she simply lapsed into silence, which surprised him. She'd always taken almost indecent enjoyment out of sparring with him. This wasn't like her at all.

He frowned as his eyes performed the familiar sweep over her face, taking in the smallest of details.

"You're worried about something," he said. "Is it about the hearing? Because trust me, I got this. I've been practicing my speech for a month. It's full of deep remorse and lots of references to redemption and being a changed man. Want to hear it?"

"Sure," she said dispassionately, and tried her best to look interested as he recited it to her. She didn't need to listen to know that it would be good. If there was one thing her consultant had always been good at; it was talking himself out of trouble.

"So what did you think?" he asked her, when he'd finished. "I just thought of all the stuff I knew you'd want me to say and put it in. Brilliant, eh?"

She didn't seem to have taken in a word of what he'd said. Her beautiful eyes had a faraway look, and all her previous zeal for preparing him for the hearing seemed to have deserted her. Something was going on in that pretty head of hers; she never had been good at hiding things from him.

"Hey." He touched her hand softly, to bring her consciousness back to him. "What's wrong Teresa? You can talk to me."

She was quiet for quite a while, and though desperate to know what was bothering her, he didn't press her. Instead, he watched her purse her lips in thought, and the line between her eyebrows deepen. Her slender fingers tapped an inconsequential rhythm on the table between them.

"Patrick," she addressed him quietly at last. "The first time I came here, we talked about…us." Her cheeks were tinged with the faintest hint of scarlet as she forced herself to meet his eyes. "Do you remember that?"

"What do you think has kept me going in here for the last three years?" he said. He'd thought of her every day without fail, using memories of all the good times they'd had together to get him through his darkest days. Clinging on to the shining beacon at the end of this miserable tunnel, when he could finally start moving on with his life, with her by his side again. Forever this time.

She looked uncomfortable. "Well, whatever it is you're planning, I wanted to ask you now, please don't do it. I'm still with Michael."

Michael. She'd mentioned there had been a new man on the scene a while ago, but he'd thought it would turn out like all the others; a few brief flings and then she'd send him packing. He'd always imagined leaving prison and straight into her waiting arms, at which point he would sweep her off her feet, like he should of done the day he'd met her. Take her anywhere she wanted to go, treat her the way she deserved to be, and spend every day trying to turn himself into a man who might have any hope at all of being worthy of her. A fool's errand, he suspected, but she was worth the effort.

But there was never supposed to be a Michael. He hadn't counted on competition.

"Michael, huh?" he said, lightly. "Sorry, doesn't ring a bell."

Her eyes flashed angrily at him. "Isn't it funny how the memory palace only seems to fail you at moments like this, when you're forced to confront something that you'd rather not."

He ignored that. "So is it serious with this guy?" he asked.

"Kind of," she replied, not quite meeting his eyes. "He's good to me. I could do a lot worse."

"Do you love him?" he asked, voicing his greatest fear; that their three-year separation had been too much. He'd had nothing to do in here but think of her, but she had been going out into the world, experiencing things, meeting new people. Living. Perhaps he'd been counting too much on their past to keep himself number one in her heart. Perhaps absence didn't always make the heart grow fonder.

She hesitated, eyes darting about the room as though trying to hunt down an escape route. But he had no intention of letting her off the hook with this one.

"Well?" he pressed, as a minute passed without a reply. "Do you?"

She sighed. "I care about him a lot," she admitted at last. "And that's all I have to say on the subject."

He breathed an inward sigh of relief. She might love Michael, or she might not, but she certainly didn't love him enough to close the door on them completely. He wasn't out of this yet.

"This doesn't change anything, though," she said, reading the expression on his face. "I'm still going to be with him when you get out. And I intend to remain so."

He watched her lift her chin defiantly, daring him to disagree, and experienced a small pang at the thought of losing her, to Michael the Magnificent, or to anybody else. He didn't face down a serial killer and a prison sentence just to be outflanked by a two-bit insurance lawyer at the eleventh hour.

"Duly noted," he said. "But I meant what I said to you three years ago, and the promise still stands."

"Then you're going to be disappointed," she told him, softly.

"Maybe," he said. "But I'll even more disappointed in myself if I don't try."

The guard, Fisher, broke up the conversation at that point. He'd been a stalwart feature of the prison as long as she'd been coming here and the years had not been kind to him. His hair had begun to thin on top, and he'd put on enough weight over time for him to develop a slow, shuffling gait, as though his body struggled with hefting its own heavy bulk from place to place. Privately, she thought he should be thinking about retirement, or at least a career change, for she'd seen several inmates who could overpower him in an instant should they choose to.

Jane seemed to have been in some kind of suspended animation in comparison. With the exception of a few little lines around his eyes, he hadn't changed a bit since the day he'd first come here. Even as everybody around him deteriorated under the passage of time, he remained just as beautiful as he'd always been. She'd kind of hoped prison would have taken off just a little of his unreasonable gorgeousness, but no such luck. He was still the same in every way, and she was in very great danger of being as much in love with him as ever.

"Sweetheart, go to sleep. It's almost three a.m."

Teresa jumped a little as her boyfriend's voice suddenly echoed out of the darkness. She'd been lying in bed next to Michael for hours, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about him, and Jane, and both of them and ruing the day her life had gotten so complicated.

"You have a court date in six hours, why aren't you asleep?" she demanded, suddenly irritated with him for disrupting her thought process.

He didn't comment on her bad temper, and merely said; "How am I supposed to relax with you lying there thinking so loudly you're practically screaming at me?"

She sighed, feeling contrite. Snapping at Michael wasn't going to achieve anything. "I know. I'm sorry. I've just got a lot on my mind."

He leant over, and pressed a kiss to her shoulderblade. "Anything I can help you with?"

"Not really." _At least not unless you can find some way to make me 100% sure how I feel about you in less than a week_, she added silently. And she couldn't exactly_ say_ that, could she? That would lead to awkward questions.

Concern passed over his face as he took in her troubled expression, and he pulled her in for a quick hug.

"You shouldn't spend so much time in your own mind, babe," he said, releasing her. "That's how people go insane."

"I'm fine," she lied, forcing a smile. "Just a work thing. Go back to sleep."

"You're fine," he repeated. "Of course you are." He let out a little sigh.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked.

"I wish you'd tell me what you were thinking sometimes, instead of bottling it all up," he said. "One day, you're going to explode." He kissed her gently. "Let me know when you're ready to start letting me in, won't you? It might not be as bad as you think."

She mulled his words over as he fell asleep beside her again, an arm draped over her waist. She'd never thought of herself as a secretive person up until now. Perhaps she'd just gotten so used to Jane practically pulling her thoughts out of her head that she'd forgotten that most people needed something a little more concrete.

She felt herself smile a little as she thought of the many times Jane had told her what an open book she was, if anybody bothered to look hard enough. He could spout odd facts about her and her life on cue, and had always known when she was afraid or upset without her having to say a word.

If they were together, they'd probably never have to have a conversation like this. She'd never been able to hide anything from him, and in turn, had always been able to tell when something was bothering him. And even when they didn't actually talk to one another they could still communicate with just a look or a gesture.

But, she told herself sternly, that happened when you had known someone for over ten years. It was unfair to make comparisons between him and Michael, and besides, Jane had let her down many times over the years. Michael was the one for her. She was 100% sure of it.

Almost.

The parole board took less than twenty minutes to grant Jane's parole. He thought he'd spun a wonderful story of woe and remorse, and it hadn't hurt that two of the panellists had been women. Really, any criminal with a half-convincing poker face could have won them over; it was no wonder so many of them were getting back out on the streets to reoffend.

If he weren't worried about jeopardizing his release, he probably would've said something about the inefficiency of the prison system. But he could feel Lisbon's eyes on him the whole time, watching silently from a seat up the back. He was doing this for her; taking the all-important first step to becoming the man she needed him to be. So for the first time in his life, he kept his mouth shut. He could only hope she appreciated the sacrifice he was making for her.

He was returned to his cell, triumphant. His cellmate Chester cast him a lot of resentful looks that night, (his application for parole had been rejected by the very same panel two weeks earlier) but he refused to be affected by them. He was going home. He even made peace with Fisher, who gruffly stated that as far as criminal scumbags went, he wasn't all that bad, which he took as a compliment.

He left the prison as a free man the very next day. As he passed out through the sliding cell doors for the last time, he looked carefully around himself, committing the place to the memory palace. While far from being pleasant, prison had at least been a new experience for him. He'd certainly learned a lot about the manufacture of makeshift weapons; and that knowledge would almost certainly come in handy one day.

She'd promised to come and pick him up. He couldn't wait to see her without someone constantly watching, and a table between them. He collected his personal effects from the front desk, and then stepped out into the afternoon sunshine to wait for her.

Kimball Cho sighed and turned to the next page of the affidavit. It was highly dull reading, but it might at least fill in time until the boss got back. He couldn't quite believe that Jane was actually getting out of prison today; it felt like only yesterday that they'd been at the courthouse watching him be tried.

To his dying day, he would never forget the look on Lisbon's face when the judge handed down the sentence. The colour had drained out of her completely, and she'd swayed a little in her seat. Even with all their collective knowledge of the legal system, he'd known the boss had still been praying for some kind of a miracle, and instead, she had copped a hard backhand of reality, right to the face.

Cho was full of admiration for the way she had been able to cope with the following years. It must have killed her a little more every month when she went to visit him, but when they suggested she give it a miss for a while, she flatly refused. He needed her, she said. He needed something to remind that he still had a life waiting for him when he got out. So she kept going.

The visits wiped her out emotionally, they could all see it. She tried to hide it but she'd come back to the office in the afternoon, eyes to the floor, and speaking to nobody for at least a few hours. He privately wondered if Jane knew exactly what all this was doing to her, it was all well and good for her to be strong for him, but when he got taken back to his cell, who was going to prop her up, and keep her from drowning in despair?

As a team, they had done their best, but in a way it was like Vegas all over again, only worse. Her pain was deeper than any one of them could reach.

And then Michael had come along; and at first they'd all took it as a positive sign that she might finally be moving on with her life, but a few weeks worth of observing them made it abundantly clear that they were on very different wavelengths.

He couldn't help but feel a little sorry for Michael, really. He was clearly devoted to the boss, had even volunteered to go with her to pick Jane up today, but the poor bastard had no idea what he was in for.

Cho knew already how it would go. He knew that a part of Lisbon had never really let go of Jane, even after all this time. And with Red John out of the way for good, Jane would finally be ready to let his guard down.

The boss would get that starry-eyed look again she'd always used to have around Jane, and he'd tease her and flirt with her like he'd always done, and then eventually, be it a matter of hours, days, or weeks, they wouldn't be able to hold back anymore. They'd been resisting each other for thirteen years now; he knew nuns who had demonstrated less restraint.

Jane and Lisbon would get their chance. And unfortunately, Michael would be the casualty.

It was a shame; he quite liked the man, and personally, he wasn't convinced that Jane deserved to even be in the same room as Lisbon; after all he'd put her through. But it wasn't up to him.

It was up to them.

The familiar jet-black Suburban glided to a stop next to where Jane was standing, and he couldn't help but smirk at the sight of it. The old girl was certainly showing her age now, the paintwork having lost most of its sheen, and sporting a ding on the bumper it hadn't had before.

The driver's door opened, and out she stepped, landing lightly on the pavement, and smiling at him. The sun caught her hair as she turned her head and gave it a soft, golden glow. A bevy of supermodels could have passed them by at that point and still his eyes would have been only for her.

"Hey," she said, as nonchalantly as though it were just another ordinary day.

"Hey," he echoed, and then stepped forward to envelop her into a long hug. He held her close to him, relishing the fact that he got to do this again. He never wanted to let her go. But something was wrong. He could feel her shaking slightly against him, and her pulse was skittering a little oddly.

"You're nervous," he whispered. "Why?"

Another door opened, and he looked round eagerly, expecting to see Cho, or possibly Van Pelt, coming around to welcome him back into the fold.

Instead, he found himself looking at a man in his late thirties; medium height and build, dressed in a grey suit that looked as thought it were a few years old. This had to be the boyfriend, he reasoned. Why else would she bring along someone he didn't know to something like this?

"Michael, I presume?" he asked, genially, and extended one hand for the man to shake. The other, he kept firmly around Lisbon's shoulders, sending a silent, but clear message. He had as much to right to hug her now as he had back when he had been the only man in her life.

To his credit, Michael seemed perfectly untroubled, and shook his proffered hand. "The famous Patrick Jane," he said. "Teresa's told me a lot about you."

"Oh really?" he said, surprised by the man's pleasantness. Most would have at least thrown him a dirty look by now, as he still hadn't completely let go of Lisbon.

Michael smiled. "She tells me that what you did saved her life. Is that true?"

"More or less," he replied. Keeping her safe had been one of his objectives, true enough, but when the moment had arrived, he just hadn't been able to resist being the one to finally put an end to all the years of misery. He'd always said he was going to do it, and he knew that he'd have regretted it if someone else had.

"Well in that case, I wanted to thank you," said Michael, with complete sincerity. "If it weren't for you, I'd never have met her." He smiled warmly at Teresa. "She's an amazing woman."

Jane felt himself stiffen as Teresa smiled nervously back.

"That she is," he agreed, releasing her at last.

"Come on," she said softly, avoiding his eyes. "The guys want to see you."

His dislike of the situation only intensified as he was relegated to the back seat of the car for the trip back to Sacramento. This was not how he had pictured his release at all. They had always been alone in his imaginings, for a start.

To give Michael his due, however, the man was undoubtedly very pleasant, and trusting, a real good guy.

Obviously, something was fishy. Because the way he recalled it, 'good guy' had never been Teresa's type.

Despite his less-than-ideal homecoming, he couldn't help but feel his spirits lift as they arrived at CBI headquarters. This building was more of a home to him than his apartment had ever been. The team were the closest thing to family he had these days, and he realized now how much he'd missed them all.

The girls at the reception desk gasped aloud at the sight of him as they passed through the lobby, and scrabbled for their cellphones, with the result that as they stepped off the elevator at the Serious Crimes floor, it was to find a large group of agents waiting for them.

The story of the Red John takedown had become the stuff of CBI legend, and the crowd was comprised of both familiar people, and some new faces that had obviously heard the tale and wanted to get a look at him with their own eyes.

Jane had the thought that this was how zoo animals must feel as he looked around the crowd of eager faces. He felt Teresa's hand brush lightly against his in an unspoken gesture of support, and smiled a little to himself.

"Good afternoon everybody," he said. "Long time, no see."

Silence.

"I suppose this would be the part where I made some amusing comment about how I wanted to call, but I was detained," he said, and saw a few smirks appear. "But I'll spare you the prison comedy." He smiled around at them all. "It's good to see you all."

It was relief to find his way to the old bullpen, where Van Pelt, Rigsby and Cho, who hadn't been a part of the curious mob, rose to greet him. And it was an even bigger relief when Michael looked at his watch and said he had to get back to the office. He spent the rest of the afternoon catching up with his old team until they all went home at five, and then Lisbon offered to drive him to his apartment. He'd kept paying rent on it the whole time he'd been in prison, and his precious car had been safely locked up in a storage locker.

"Must be weird being back here after you were away so long," she said, as she walked him to the dingy door.

He shrugged. "I'll get used to it."

"Is coming home everything you thought it would be?"

"No," he answered bluntly. "It's not as great as I was hoping."

She didn't bother insulting both of their intelligences by asking what he'd meant by that. "I warned you about Michael," she said instead.

He met her beautiful green eyes. "And I warned you, it doesn't change how I feel about you."

She placed a restraining hand gently against his chest. "We can't do this, Patrick. It's as simple as that."

" That's not true. We can do anything we want," he countered, speaking so quietly she had trouble hearing him. "And we both want this."

The denial she'd been preparing died on her lips. There was no point trying to lie about it. She'd wanted him then, and she still did now, but that didn't mean they had to act on it. And then it suddenly hit her how they must look to a passer-by, standing so close, gazing into another's eyes, like lovers. She hastily took a step back.

"That doesn't matter," she said. "We both just need to move on from this. Go back to being friends again." She attempted a smile, which he didn't return, keeping up his expression of perfect seriousness.

"I'm not going to stop loving you just because there's someone else," he said firmly.

As he held her gaze, she could feel all the old feelings starting to stir up inside her again. She'd always loved it when he talked to her this way, without all the showmanship. And he was looking at her now the way she'd once dreamed he would. God, how she would like to kiss him, just once, just as an indication of what might have been. But Michael was expecting her for dinner at his place.

"Goodnight, Jane," she said, patting him on the shoulder in farewell, a friendly and slightly less intimate gesture than she would usually choose.

"Goodnight Teresa," he said, and resisted the urge to reach for her as he watched her descend the little flight of steps and head back to her car. It was torture knowing that she'd be spending the night with another man; it had been easier to separate himself from it in prison, where there had been no choice. But he stood here now, offering her everything, promising her forever, and still she'd walked away.

It was no more than he deserved.

She made it to Michael's place just as night was beginning to fall. He already had Chinese food out on the table ready for her, and she picked at some rice and moo shoo pork to make him happy. But she wasn't really very hungry. Neither was she in the mood for after-dinner drinks or a movie, and declined his invitation to spend the night, under the guise of an early start in the morning, when truthfully, she just felt like being alone with her thoughts.

Her apartment was cloaked in darkness by the time she reached it. She pulled back the curtains to let in the moonlight, and wondered what Jane was doing now. Not sleeping, surely. Reading perhaps, or watching TV, or maybe just lying on his bed, ruminating on life.

She'd made the right choice, she told herself. There was no point looking backwards anymore.

She took a long shower, changed into pyjamas, and climbed into bed, but try though she might, sleep wouldn't come. She felt like she'd been lying there for hours when the text message came in.

"You still up?"

She felt a smile start to creep across her face. She had no idea how he'd been able to get his hands on a cell phone so quickly, but the warmth was starting to spread through her body as she read his message. She had missed their late-night texting marathons while he had been inside.

"What are you, stalking me?" she texted back. "I could have you back in prison for that." She pictured him smiling to himself as he read it.

"You wouldn't dare," he sent back.

"Try me."

There was a brief pause in proceedings; her screen remained blank for a few minutes, and she thought he might have given in for the night, when the message tone rang out again.

"I want to see you."

Alarm bells in her head started to go off; she tried to deflect him with another reply.

"We were together all day."

"I want it to be just the two of us. Alone."

She'd been using other people as buffers all day, in an attempt to head off this moment, but she should have known he wouldn't stand for it.

She should just say no. Refuse to meet him. But her fingers seemed to act independently of her body and tapped out a reply before she was fully aware of it.

"OK. Where?"

No matter how she tried, he just kept pulling her back in

The spot he chose was an all-night diner, a few blocks from her apartment. They went there a lot in the old days; and it was one of their favourite haunts. Jane had liked it because he thought they made the best eggs in the city. As for her, she couldn't have cared less about how the food tasted, or how friendly the staff was; she'd just wanted to be where he was.

He was waiting for her when she arrived, sitting in what had once been 'their' booth, with a steaming cup of tea and a plate of eggs.

"Hey," he greeted her with an easy smile. "Hungry?"

She shook her head. "I ate at Michael's."

His face fell a little. "Of course you did. Coffee then?"

"Sure." She wasn't going to get any sleep tonight anyway, so she might as well get something out of it.

Jane stopped a passing waitress and gave her the new order, flirting with her just enough to get a free muffin brought over with it. As the young waitress flounced off towards the kitchen, giggling, Lisbon rolled her eyes.

"Out of prison five minutes and charming them already," she said. "You could write a book."

"Please, there was no skill involved in that one," he scoffed. "With her abandonment issues, it was like shooting fish in a barrel. Here. Observe."

The waitress returned with their order and set them down in front of Lisbon without looking at her. "Here you go," she said carelessly, while beaming at Jane. "Can I get you more tea?" she offered.

"Only if you come with it," he replied automatically with a smile that must have been half-capacity at most, and Lisbon smirked as the girl giggled shrilly again,

"Oh, you," she said, sashaying away from the table.

"See?" said Jane, the moment she was out of earshot. "Piece of cake."

"So that's the great tactic?" she asked, incredulously. "Pick up lines from the Stone Age?"

He shrugged. "Well obviously the level of effort I put in would be dependant on what exactly I wanted to get out of the arrangement," he said. "A tired old line like that might get me a free muffin, but if the stakes were higher, I'd have to try a different approach."

She emptied a packet of sugar into her coffee, smiling. His mind worked in such weird and wonderful ways. "Give me an example."

Something changed in his eyes. "An example. OK. Let's say, hypothetically, that there was a man and a woman, who had been friends for a very long time. And in spite of their rocky history and his better judgment, the man found himself to be deeply in love with her."

His hand had found hers now, and the alarm bells were back with full force. "Jane," she said quietly. "Don't."

"The man was the first to admit that he made some big mistakes where the woman was concerned, that cost him three years of his life. And when he finally got past that point of his life, she had already moved on with someone else."

"Patrick," she said, trying a different tack. "Please." But he ploughed on relentlessly.

"The man thought she would wait for him, and just fall into his arms when he was ready," he said. "But he was wrong. And he realized that he had no right to keep interfering with her happiness. So he asked her out to a diner, not unlike this one, and decided to give it one last try."

Oxygen seemed to be sucked out of the air around them, as he gazed at her. How many times had she dreamed of this? Wished and hoped that one day her deepest fantasy would come true? All thoughts of work and Michael left her head, and there was only Patrick Jane.

He took a deep breath. "And he told the woman that she would always be the single most important thing in the world to him. That he'd love her no matter where she went or who she was with, because she'd saved him. And maybe he was just a little too late to save her. But if she ever changed her mind, he'd be waiting for her."

The declaration seemed to descend upon them like a physical weight, as they both waited for the other to speak. Neither wanted to be the first to break the silence, but after a few agonizing minutes she couldn't take it anymore.

She removed her hand from his and pushed her chair back.

"I have to go."

He stared after her as she all but bolted for the door. Her cup of coffee was still almost full on the table.

They didn't see each other for two weeks. She was kept busy with a new case, and he spent most of his time arranging the sale of the Malibu house. He wanted it to be wrapped up quickly so he could use the money to finally move out of that motel room. Ironically, it felt even more constrictive than his cell in prison, despite being nearly twice its size. Perhaps it was just because of all the bad memories.

The CBI had already been in touch, offering him back his consulting position, which had surprised him. The Bureau had forgiven him many of his sins, but he'd expected that a murder conviction would have been enough to draw the line. He'd accepted the offer, with stipulations, the first being that he would consult only on cases he deemed worthy of his time, and the second that he would only come back to work if it was all right with Lisbon. They'd been avoiding each other since the diner incident; she may not ever want to see him again, and he could hardly blame her.

He had mixed feelings about the way he'd acted that first day after his release. He regretted the fact that he'd made things awkward between himself and his best friend, but at the same time, was glad that he had said his piece all the same. He'd done all he could, short of simply demanding she choose between himself and Michael, all he could do now was wait and see.

Lisbon and the team got their case solved after two solid weeks of effort. A few times she'd found herself thinking back wistfully to the Jane era, when cases could sometimes be solved in hours, although producing a ream of paperwork from whatever nonsense Jane had employed to flush out the killer.

The Director had called her into his office this morning to tell her they'd offered him his job back. She understood why, the quick closures and good publicity were big attractions for the top brass, but she'd been confused when they asked how she felt about it. She hadn't thought her opinion would really count for much, but she told them she had no problem working with Jane again and would be glad to have him back on her team. Which was true in theory. She just had to figure out how to not feel so guilty every time she looked at him and she'd be OK.

After filing away the last report on their newly closed case she drove herself over to Michael's place.

"Hey, stranger," he greeted her with a long hug. "I was starting to worry you might have found yourself another man."

"Why would I do that?" she snapped, suddenly defensive. "I'm with you."

Michael retreated a few steps, taken aback by her sudden outburst. "Babe, I was kidding," he said, reassuringly. "I know you've had work stuff on."

"I'm sorry," she said shortly. "I'm just tired."

"It's OK," he reassured her, with a smile.

"_That's it?"_ she thought to herself, following him inside. Not a single question, not even the smallest bit of curiosity. She could have been running round Sacramento with twenty men for all he knew. Didn't he _care? _If it were Jane, he'd be bombarding her with questions, wanting to know it all.

But he wasn't Jane, she reminded herself.

The evening passed in an ordinary enough fashion. They ate, watched a basketball game on cable, and then made love on the couch, but she found that her heart wasn't really in any of it. Everything about it was just so predictable. Every time they spent time together they followed the same routine. At first, it had been comforting to have some stability in her life, but now…

Where was the excitement? The blinding, all encompassing 'got to have you now' feeling that couples were supposed to have for each other. She'd never realised before how much she wanted that. Someone who got her heart racing. Who challenged her, excited her, and stimulated her on every level.

But there was only one person who'd ever made her feel like that, and he wasn't the man lying next to her.

That son of a bitch. That _son of a bitch. _

She was never really going to get over him, was she? She could lie here playing happy couples with Michael for the rest of their lives, but even though she might be fooling him, she couldn't fool herself.

"Teresa," Michael said, once they'd both dressed again, and had a cup of fresh coffee in their hands. "I've been thinking. This going back and forth from each other's apartments is really inconvenient." He paused, briefly. "How would you feel about maybe moving in here?"

Her coffee mug hit the counter with a thud.

"I love you," Michael went on. "And I think we're really good together. What do you think?"

"No." The answer came out of her mouth so fast, she didn't even think about it, and she cringed, wishing it hadn't sounded so blunt.

Michael looked as if he'd been slapped. "No?" he said, tentatively, as if hoping he had misheard.

"No," she repeated. "I can't."

"Can I ask why?"

"Because I don't love you," she said, again regretting the harsh delivery, but knowing that for the first time ever, she was actually telling him the truth. "And if I don't now, I never will."

Slowly, the shock was leaving Michael's expression, to be replaced with suspicion. "There is someone else, isn't there?" he said, accusingly. "Who? How long have you been seeing him?"

"Thirteen years," she said, under her breath.

A week later, Jane walked back into the CBI building for his first official day back as consultant for Serious Crimes. The team gave him a hero's welcome, but Lisbon was conspicuously absent from the welcoming committee. He glanced towards her office every few seconds, and Cho noticed.

"She's finishing up an interview," he said.

"Who, Lisbon?" asked Jane, innocently.

"Don't play stupid man, it doesn't suit you," said Rigsby.

Jane watched from the observation room, as Lisbon wound up the interview. The man turned out to be a recent victim's brother, and she was talking him through the identity of the killer, as well the motive for the crime. He'd always loved the way she took the time to do these follow-up interviews herself, rather than delegate them to junior agents, like other team leaders did.

Once the man had left he opened the door to the interrogation room, surprising her as she gathered up her files.

"He took it pretty well, "he said.

"He's still in shock for now. But it'll hit him when he gets home. Welcome back."

"Feels like coming home," he said, and meant it.

"So I broke up with Michael," she said, casually.

"I'm sorry to hear it," he countered, matching her breezy tone.

"Sure you are. I can see you're really torn up about it."

"I could say the same about you," he parried. "So what happened?"

"Well, that's the thing," she said. "Everything was going just fine until some blonde jerk came and messed things up."

He grinned at that one. "It was probably for the best."

"You think so?"

As they were talking, she'd been slowly inching her way around the table to be closer to him. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes twinkling as they bickered.

"So, why'd you dump him?" he asked. "Because I know he wouldn't have been stupid enough to break it off with you."

"I had to," she said, quietly. "He's a good man, and he deserves better than being in half a relationship. "

She stepped towards him, saw desire instantly appear in his sea-green eyes, and felt the wonderful sizzling sensation he'd always brought out in her, coursing through her body.

"Besides," she whispered, her lips mere inches away from his. "You're the only one I ever really wanted, Patrick. It's always been you."

In danger of losing her nerve, she tilted her head towards him until their lips met. She kissed him hungrily, pinning him to the wall with her body, feeling his arms coming around to hold her by the waist. He was equally passionate, and kissed her back with such fervour, she almost saw fireworks exploding in her head. He lifted her easily, and carried her to the interrogation table; even as she nuzzled his neck and earlobe, whispering all the things to him she'd wanted to say for all these years. When he put her down, she immediately went to work with the buttons on his shirt; she was done with waiting, she would take him here and now. But he suddenly stopped kissing her, and pulled away, ignoring her moan of protest.

"The cameras," he said, glancing around.

She pulled him in for another kiss, smiling against his lips. "Someone in IT owes me a favour," she whispered. "The cameras are down for 'maintenance' today, and I've got this room booked for the next two hours. We have all the time in the world."

He couldn't help chuckling at her unexpected sneakiness. "So you ambushed me?" he asked.

"More or less. Now come here."

Every moment they were talking, they were wasting precious time. Who knew when the phone might ring with another case, or some other disaster might happen to keep them apart again.

He kissed her again, hard and demanding, and she gripped him with both hands, as though he might disappear. But when she once again tried to get at his shirt buttons, he gently brushed her away.

"Not like this, dear," he said. "Not the first time."

She froze. "Why?"

"Because I owe it to you to take you out on a real date. Have dinner somewhere nice, dance, and then take you home and make love to you all night."

"I don't care about that," she said.

"But I do. Please Teresa, just humour me this time." He smiled that wicked, delicious smile and she felt hot all over. "Afterwards, if you want make love in your office, or on the interrogation table, or my couch, just say the word, and your wish will be my command. Anything you want, anything I can give you, I will."

"I don't want much," she said, gazing into his eyes. "Just you."

He smiled at her once more, falling more in love with her by the minute. "That I can do."

"So, do you think Cho or Rigsby's desk would be the sturdiest?" she asked him, as they left the interrogation room, having taken a few moments to make themselves more presentable before facing their colleagues.

His eyes glinted with humour as he closed the door behind them.

"I think there's only one way to find out."

**OK, so this story really got away from me. What was meant to be a little follow-up chapter turned into an 8000-word monster. **

**P.S Anyone waiting for an update for Red Roulette: watch this space. My next chapter will be coming soon.**


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